


the click of your heels on the floor (sets my heart racing to the beat)

by thewalrus_said



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Foot Fetish, M/M, Miscommunication, Service Kink, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: “Yes, I design shoes,” Nikiforov told us this week, face flushed and hands uncharacteristically flying around as he spoke. “But I don’t design a shoe to be put on a foot. I design a shoe to be worn with the whole body. I design expressions, confidence, attitude - if you put on a pair of my shoes, you should feel it all the way up in your eyebrows. The first time I saw him in one of my designs, it was like my sketches had walked off the page. He is what I’ve been working towards my entire career.”Heis Katsuki Yuuri, a breakout model who made his debut last year at Moscow’s Fashion Week.





	the click of your heels on the floor (sets my heart racing to the beat)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This was inspired by [mintyc](https://mintyc-art.tumblr.com/post/175042220673/my-contribution-to-yurionicebigbang-the)'s prompt, and buoyed along by the amazing art she created, which you can see throughout the fic below! (More of her art is over on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mintyc_art).) I had a great time with this collaboration, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> My usual gratitude to [RobinLorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLorin/pseuds/RobinLorin) for betaing. For more details on the stuff mentioned in the tags, see the end notes.

**_Nikiforov back in the game with new shoes, new muse_ **

_“Yes, I design shoes,” Nikiforov told us this week, face flushed and hands uncharacteristically flying around as he spoke. “But I don’t design a shoe to be put on a foot. I design a shoe to be worn with the whole body. I design expressions, confidence, attitude - if you put on a pair of my shoes, you should feel it all the way up in your eyebrows. The first time I saw him in one of my designs, it was like my sketches had walked off the page. He is what I’ve been working towards my entire career.”_

He _is Katsuki Yuuri, a breakout model who made his debut last year at Moscow’s Fashion Week. He (Nikiforov rarely uses Katsuki’s name, referring to him only by pronouns with an audible capital letter) didn’t model anything from Nikiforov’s label at that show, but according to our sources, they met at an afterparty. Other attendees are uncharacteristically close-lipped about what exactly happened, but we know that at some point during the party, Nikiforov presented Katsuki with a pair of fresh-off-the-runway heels, Katsuki put them on, and the rest, as they say, is history in the making._

\-----

Viktor cupped a hand around the back of Yuuri’s head before it could smack into the wall at Yuuri’s back as the tight fingers in his shirt tugged him closer by the hips. Yuuri licked into his mouth and he moaned, reaching his other hand to splay across Yuuri’s glorious collarbones. “We are too drunk for this,” Viktor muttered, kissing down the neck Yuuri obligingly bared for him.

“Mhm.” Yuuri curled a hand into Viktor’s hair and hooked one foot (still clad in the boot Viktor had made, sending another jolt of _want_ through Viktor) around Viktor’s calf. “Much too drunk.” He pulled Viktor back up to his mouth.

“Give me your phone,” Viktor managed after another few seconds. “Give it to me, I just need one second -”

Yuuri giggled against Viktor’s hair, batting Viktor’s questing fingers from his hip to pull the phone out and unlock it. It took Viktor four tries to enter his contact information, Yuuri’s tongue in his ear making his fingers fumble, but eventually he got it correct and saved it. “Call me,” Viktor said, slipping the phone back into Yuuri’s pocket. “I meant it, about working with you, designing for you.”

“I will if you promise to fire that _awful_ model you made these for,” Yuuri said, laughing again and hiking the boot further up Viktor’s leg. “Seriously, Viktor, what were you thinking?”

“I made them for you, I just didn’t know it yet,” Viktor said, earning himself another searing kiss. “Georgi’s dating my manager’s protege and she refused to let him model for her, so he got pushed off on me.”

“Straight people,” Yuuri muttered. Viktor grinned into the next kiss, and the one after that, and the one after that too.

“Yuuri, where did you go - oh!” Viktor turned his head and saw a man he vaguely recognized as one of Celestino’s usual ensemble at the door they had stumbled through ten minutes ago. “God, sorry,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Ciao Ciao’s looking for you, Yuuri, time to go.”

Yuuri sighed. “I’ll be along in a minute, Phichit.”

“Oh, take your _time_ -”

“Phichit.”

Phichit raised his hands in surrender, smirking as he left. Yuuri’s hand slid along Viktor’s cheek, turning it until he could press another kiss to Viktor’s mouth.

“I should go,” Viktor murmured.

“Probably,” Yuuri agreed with a grin, sliding his hands down Viktor’s sides to his hips. Viktor groaned, making Yuuri giggle again, and turned to leave. A sharp tug on his belt loop brought him in again, and he cupped Yuuri’s face in his hands for one last slow kiss.

“Call me,” Viktor said, his forehead pressed to Yuuri’s. “I mean it.” He waited for Yuuri’s nod before breaking away and all but running down the hallway to keep his resolve.

(Yuuri didn’t call, and he didn’t call, and he didn’t call, until two months later when Viktor’s phone rang as he was packing up to leave his studio for the day. Yuuri’s voice was more hesitant than Viktor remembered, a little more nervous as he said, “I hope you don’t mind, I just - I’m starting to get offers for next year’s Fashion Weeks, and I wanted to, well, give you first refusal, if you wanted it.” His voice ticked up at the end like he was asking, like there was any _question_ that Viktor wanted Yuuri all to himself.

“I don’t want it,” Viktor said, reopening his bag and yanking out his notebook. “Or, wait, I don’t want the refusal. I _do_ want you. I’m glad you called.” He opened the notebook, flipping through the dozens of designs he’d started with Yuuri in mind.

“Oh,” Yuuri said, and then, “Good. That’s good.”)

\-----

That first phone call turned into several, turned into Skype calls, turned into a long weekend in Barcelona shooting promotional material for Viktor’s next commercial line. Yuuri was endearingly nervous when they finally met in person again, the blush on his cheeks almost constant; Viktor could only hope his own flush and nervous energy were half as charming.

Chris took it upon himself to supervise the fittings the day before the shoot began, despite Viktor’s hinting, and once outright stating, that as photographer he should really be seeing to the set. “Oh, I trust my team with that,” Chris said with a leer, leaning his chin onto his palm. “I’m enjoying this show _so_ much more, I assure you.”

“Well, as long as you’re enjoying yourself.” Viktor released Yuuri’s foot and stood, turning to hide his red cheeks and glare at Chris. “But I’m afraid we’re done here. Off with you.”

Chris rolled his eyes conspiratorially at Yuuri but, thankfully, left. “Sorry about him,” Viktor said once they were alone. “He thinks he’s charming.”

To Viktor’s surprise, Yuuri chuckled, suddenly sounding more like he had those months ago at their first meeting than he had since. “I think he was looking out for my modesty, actually.” Viktor turned a quizzical look on him; he was grinning. “You couldn’t take your eyes off my feet,” Yuuri explained, leaning forward. “You couldn’t before, either.”

_That_ was true; back in Moscow Yuuri’s feet had only been bare for a few seconds before slipping into Viktor’s boots, but Viktor could remember staring for several long minutes afterwards, already too tipsy to control his gaze. Viktor shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “I’m a shoe designer, Yuuri. Looking at feet is what I do.”

“You have a fetish.”

Viktor flashed another look at Yuuri’s face; he was still smirking, amused but not judgmental. “Six of one,” Viktor allowed after a long moment.

Yuuri huffed a laugh, standing up. “You are a piece of work, Nikiforov.” The heels Viktor had him in for the fitting brought his face closer to Viktor’s than usual, their eyes nearly of a level.

“I could say the same about you.”

“You could.” Yuuri bit his lip, considering Viktor, and then left.

The next two days went by in their usual blur of models and shoes and glasses of wine shared with Chris in stolen breaks between sessions. The models were a mix of Viktor’s usuals, new ones he could already tell would become usuals, ones he could take or leave (usually leave) - and then Yuuri, miles beyond the rest, as perfect in Viktor’s creations as he had been during that impromptu runway show in a Moscow ballroom. Yuuri was the last model to be shot on the final day. Viktor had only created one of the designs from the many he had made in the months after Moscow - thigh-high boots in a gray-and-black gradient, a sharp heel and a pointed toe. He found Yuuri in a private changing room before the shoot, struggling to put the left one on.

“Sit down,” Viktor said, shutting the door behind him. Yuuri started, opening his mouth to speak. Viktor pointed to the chair before he could manage anything. “Sit,” he repeated, and Yuuri sat. Viktor crossed to him and sank to his knees, taking hold of Yuuri’s wrist and moving his hand away from the boot. “These weren’t meant for you to put on by yourself,” he explained, taking hold of the zipper and slowly dragging it up, smoothing the material with his free hand to make the glide easier, until his fingers reached the place where the boot gave way to the warmth of Yuuri’s skin and there was no more track for the zipper.

Viktor didn’t find the courage to look up at Yuuri’s face until after his other foot was settled in the base of its own boot. But then he could find it and _oh._ He had been desired enough to recognize it looking out of Yuuri’s eyes, wide and dark and half-full of the confidence Viktor had made for him. Viktor lifted Yuuri’s leg, pressed a kiss to the knob of his ankle, then took the zipper between his teeth and pulled.

It was more awkward than Viktor had envisioned, not as smooth or quite as easy to maneuver, but Yuuri reached down to help hold the two ends together, fingers brushing Viktor’s cheek, so Viktor couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed. And there was no time for shame after, either; as soon as the boot closed around his thigh Yuuri got his hands on Viktor’s face and pulled him up and in.

The kiss started almost without Viktor realizing; he could not recall the exact moment their lips met, only what it felt like to dive deeper and deeper, licking the aftertaste of metal into Yuuri’s open mouth and taking whatever he could get in return. Yuuri’s grip was tight, almost enough to leave bruises scattered across Viktor’s cheekbones as he stretched fingers into Viktor’s hair.

A hammering on the door ended it, de la Iglesia letting Yuuri know he was up soon. “Wait for me,” Yuuri whispered, hands still holding Viktor’s face still. “Don’t move.” One more kiss, used to lean Viktor back and away from his chair, and Yuuri was smirking and striding out of the dressing room.

Viktor bowed his head, eyes closed, breath coming harsh and deep. His knees began to twinge after a few minutes, but there could be no thought of standing; instead, he reached up and pressed against the spots where Yuuri had gripped his face, ran his tongue over where he could still feel Yuuri’s teeth against his upper lip.

A sharp, unfamiliar oath finally broke the silence, and Viktor looked up to see Yuuri standing in the doorway. He shut the door behind him and paced forward, until Viktor could see the glow of the lights still in his eyes. Yuuri reached out, cupping his hand over Viktor’s where it was still pressed against his own face. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Viktor keened, slipping his hand around to push his face into Yuuri’s palm and press a kiss to the meat of his thumb. Once again Yuuri tipped Viktor back, making room to slip into the chair again. “Where were we?”

Viktor lasted barely a minute more before he had to turn his face away enough to speak. “Come back to my room with me,” he whispered, shivering as Yuuri’s fingers slipped under his shirt collar. “Spend the night with me, Yuuri, stay with me.” He pressed his lips to Yuuri’s jaw. “Let me take care of you,” he added, unable to resist.

A terrifying pause, both their heartbeats pounding in Viktor’s ears, and then he felt Yuuri nod against his face. “Yes. _Yes,_ Viktor, as though I could say no to that.”

\-----

“So.” Chris picked up his glass, swilling the water like it was wine. “Tell me about him.”

Viktor gave a moment’s consideration to pretending he didn’t know whom Chris was talking about, but decided against it. “What do you want to know? That you haven’t already weaseled out of Chulanont,” he added. A guess, but Chris toasted him with a smirk.

“Well, no need to tell me how _you_ feel, I can tell you’re besotted.” Chris took a drink, ice clinking as he set the glass down. “And Chulanont’s given me the basic biography.” He tipped his head to the side. “Is he good to you?” Before Viktor could answer, Chris held up his hand. “Or, rather, is he good _with_ you?”

“Mmmm.” Viktor hummed theatrically, just to see Chris’ eyes roll. “Both.”

Chris shook his head. “While ordinarily I would adore hearing all the details, Schätzli, I’m asking if he takes your submission with grace. Have you even talked about it?”

Viktor sighed. “We have, a bit.” It had come up over Skype a few weeks ago, their first call after they made love in Barcelona. Yuuri had danced around the question, flushing beautifully when Viktor took pity on him and confessed that he liked to be of use. The conversation had ended with Viktor stripped down and coming over his own fingers for the camera, Yuuri’s soft moans and whispered praise ringing through his earbuds.

Chris was still looking at him, one eyebrow raised, so Viktor kept going. “I don’t think it comes as naturally to him as it did you, if that’s what you’re after. But he’s... _enthusiastic,_ shall we say, and I’ve had no complaints.” Viktor smiled, more to himself than Chris. “I feel safe with him.”

“Good.” Chris raised his hand to signal for the check before turning back to Viktor. “I worry, dear one. You are very giving of yourself, but he seems a good sort, and you are positively glowing.” Chris held out his card to the server, who took it and disappeared into the back. “All the same, Viktor, you call me if you need me, alright?” Viktor started to roll his eyes, but Chris reached out to cover Viktor’s hand on the table with his own. “You call me if you need me,” he repeated. “Any time. Promise me.”

Viktor lifted Chris’ hand to his mouth, laying a kiss to the knuckles. “I promise.”

\-----

Yuuri had texted from the cab on the way from the airport, and just from that, Viktor could tell he was in a foul mood. It wasn’t wholly a surprise, therefore, when Yuuri’s mouth was on his almost before the front door closed.

“That was the worst flight I’ve ever been on,” Yuuri huffed against Viktor’s hair, fingers working Viktor’s shirt buttons open. “Just, the _people,_ and there was this _smell,_ and it was just awful. Fuck,” he added in a hiss, as one of the buttons popped off and rolled somewhere under the bed.

Viktor took Yuuri’s face in his hands and kissed him. “What do you need?” he asked, taking over the rest of the buttons himself.

Yuuri almost snarled. “I don’t _know,_ I just know I want _you,_ now will you please hurry up?” He pulled his own shirt over his head and pounced again. Viktor caught him just before the kiss could land, one hand on Yuuri’s chest and the other at the back of his head. Viktor clenched a handful of Yuuri’s hair, pulled it back, and bit into his exposed neck, hard. “Shit,” Yuuri whimpered, arms flying up to wrap around Viktor, head tipping further away. “Shit, yes, Viktor.”

Viktor grinned into Yuuri’s neck, licking the bite mark before straightening up. “Bedroom,” he said, jerking his head towards it. He reached around and smacked Yuuri’s perfect ass. “Face down, naked. Go.”

Viktor prepped him rougher and quicker than he usually would, biting the knob of Yuuri’s spine or slapping his thigh whenever Yuuri tried to make him go even faster. “God, Viktor, how did you _know,_ how do you always know,” Yuuri moaned, twisting his head to blink up at him. Viktor kissed him instead of answering, pulling his fingers out from inside Yuuri to grip around Yuuri’s waist and lift.

Yuuri rode him hard and fast, hands bracketing Viktor’s head on the pillows. Viktor dug his grip into Yuuri’s thighs and fucked up as sharply as he could, but even as they both were slipping towards climax, Yuuri shook his head. “Viktor, please,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “It’s not enough, _please._ ”

Viktor got one elbow under himself, then a hand, and pushed up enough to bite at Yuuri’s lips; with the other hand he reached around and dug his nails hard into Yuuri’s back, dragging them down towards his ass. Yuuri cried out, twisting and arching to shove more of his skin against Viktor’s fingers, and Viktor let himself fall back, both hands marking Yuuri hard enough to draw blood.

Yuuri leaned forward as he came, torso almost parallel with Viktor’s. “Come in me, Viktor,” he murmured, somehow managing to run his toes along the outside of Viktor’s leg, and Viktor could do nothing but oblige him.

The master bathroom was mere feet away, but even so, Yuuri was almost asleep by the time Viktor came back with a warm damp cloth and spray bandage bottle. Not for the first time, Viktor wished he were a painter, or perhaps photographer, instead of a designer; the sprawl of Yuuri’s hair across the pillow and the glow of his skin against Viktor’s sheets deserved to be immortalized. He stood for a moment, drinking in the sight, until Yuuri cracked one eye open. “Quit gawking and hurry up,” Yuuri mumbled.

Viktor cleaned Yuuri’s chest, ass, and thighs, folded the cloth, and dabbed at the small trails of blood on his back. “This will likely sting a little,” Viktor warned, picking up the bottle and giving it a quick shake. Yuuri hissed as the spray hit his torn skin, and Viktor ran a gentle fingertip down his spine. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri shook his head, fumbling backwards for Viktor’s hand and pulling it to his mouth for a kiss. “‘S perfect. You were perfect.” Another kiss, landing on Viktor’s wrist. “Always so perfect for me.”

He was properly asleep when Viktor slipped into bed beside him, cloth in the bathroom sink and pajama bottoms on. Viktor adjusted the covers to avoid the still-tacky areas of Yuuri’s back, traced the curves of his ear and cheek with one finger, and shut his eyes.

\-----

**_Further details revealed on Nikiforov’s secret project_ **

_For those of you who have been paying attention to Katsuki Yuuri’s frequent trips to St. Petersburg over the last few months, we finally have some details! No, not_ those _kinds of details, alas; both he and Nikiforov are still playing coy about the exact nature of their personal relationship. However, we did manage to convince Nikiforov’s manager, Yakov Feltsman, to spill some info about Katsuki’s presence. “The two of them are collaborating on a project. A spread, to debut in conjunction with the next Fashion Week in Moscow. The details are still under wraps, so I can’t say too much, but I can tell you that it is seasonal in theme, and will be conducted in several shoots between now and then.” Naturally, we asked if there was any_ other _reason behind Katsuki’s frequent intercontinental flights; the only response was his patented Feltsman Frown._

_Curiouser and curiouser! Moscow Fashion Week is about eight months away; undoubtedly we’ll hear more as it draws closer. We’ll keep you posted, so watch this space._

\-----

“The red ones pinch,” Yuuri murmured, rubbing his hand over his eyes as he settled into the armchair. Viktor settled onto the floor, back to the chair, and accepted Yuuri’s right leg over his shoulder. “I meant to say something before, but, well.”

After the red shoes, Viktor had dragged Yuuri into the dressing room and blown him for the twenty minutes they had before crossing the line into _extremely_ late to dinner with Yakov. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix them tomorrow.”

“I know you will.” Viktor looked up at Yuuri, who was smiling fondly down at him. _Christ,_ but he was beautiful like this, soft and affectionate and entirely comfortable in Viktor’s space. “I know you don’t want me to hurt for your shoes.”

“My shoes should be like a second skin to you.” Viktor started to pick at the knot of Yuuri’s trainer, loosening the laces without tugging anything tighter. “They should be moulded to your arch, your toes, the curve and swell of your heel.” He slipped the trainer from Yuuri’s foot and rolled the sock off as well. There was an angry mark below the big toe, a gift from the red shoes. Viktor kissed it and let the leg dangle, reaching to mirror the process on Yuuri’s left foot. “The shoes I make for you should feel like me. Wrapping around you, supporting you, keeping you safe from pain.”

Yuuri purred as Viktor began to knead the bare underside of his left foot, shifting to let his right foot slip closer to the front of Viktor’s trousers. “But I like it when you hurt me.”

Viktor shut his eyes briefly, biting down the Pavlovian moan at the feel of Yuuri’s clever toes drifting across his thigh. “Only sometimes.” His voice was hoarse all of a sudden, and he could feel Yuuri grin against his hair. “Only when you ask me to. When you _beg_ me to.” Viktor lifted Yuuri’s left foot to press a kiss to the matching mark there, and to the jut of his ankle, the dip of his arch.

Yuuri pressed on Viktor’s right shoulder with his knee, using the leverage to pull him closer. Viktor twisted to accept the kiss Yuuri pressed to his mouth. “You always give me just what I want,” Yuuri whispered against Viktor’s cheek. “You’re so good, Viktor, you’re always so, so good to me.”

Viktor whimpered, mouthing at Yuuri’s jaw and turning between his legs, sliding a hand up Yuuri’s thigh as it slipped from his shoulder. “Is that what you want tonight?” Viktor asked. He pressed a kiss to his denim-covered knee. “A little bit of pain?”

“Tempting.” Yuuri reached out to touch Viktor’s face, tracing his fingers down his cheekbone to rest on his lower lip. “But I think I want your mouth again.” Viktor took Yuuri’s index finger into his mouth, shifting his knees closer to the chair. “All I could think about during dinner was your tongue, starting at my heel and working your way up.”

Viktor gave Yuuri’s finger one last suck and let it slip from his mouth. “I can do that,” he said with a grin, reaching for Yuuri’s belt as Yuuri leaned back in the chair.

\-----

**_In which Christophe Giacometti is even more of a tease than usual_ **

_For those of you who have been following the whirlwind romance - excuse us, professional partnership - between Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri, we have another update for you. We managed to grab ahold of Christophe Giacometti, who we have recently discovered is working on their top-secret project as photographer, and pump him for details. Or, we tried to, anyway._

_“I’m always happy to be grabbed and pulled aside into a dark corner,” he assured our reporter Morooka in his usual sensual purr. (Note: This interview was scheduled ahead of time and took place in a well-lit room. Maybe next time, Giacometti.) “But I’m afraid I have to leave you disappointed. It’s all top-secret, you know that. Hush hush.” He paused, evidently thinking about his next words. “I will tell you this, though. I have known Viktor for a long, long time, as a friend, a lover, and a collaborator.” (Note: Giacometti and Nikiforov have always been fairly open about the existence of a past sexual relationship; if you’re confused, read_ _this_ _.) “I have never seen him quite like this before. It’s been quite thrilling to be a part of it, and I think you’ll all be delighted with the end results.”_

_Naturally, we asked if that was a confirmation of the nature of Nikiforov’s relationship with Katsuki. “I confirm nothing, I deny nothing, in regards to that,” Giacometti said airily, back in his flirtatious persona. “I just like to brag.”_

_Well, we can’t blame you for that, Giacometti, and we can’t wait to see those end results. A few more months to go!_

\-----

“I’m going to rewrite your contract so that you’re not allowed to take any jobs with anyone other than me that last more than two days,” Viktor grumbled into the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, juggling the bags in his arms as he danced around Makkachin at the front door. “Three days maximum, if the one responsible apologizes to me personally.”

Yuuri laughed. “You miss me that much?”

“You know I do.”

“I miss you too.” Yuuri’s voice was warm and soft. “But I don’t think my agent will go for that, I’m afraid. You pay well but not _that_ well.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just marry you instead.” Viktor set the last of the bags on the counter and dropped to the floor, accepting Makkachin’s paws in his lap.

“There’s the romantic proposal I dreamed about as a child,” Yuuri said drily. Viktor laughed. “Is Makkachin there?”

“You think I would propose without Makkachin here? How little you know me, my Yuuri.” Viktor held the phone out to Makkachin, who barked obligingly before settling his head on Viktor’s knee. “He misses you too.”

“Cuddle him from me, until I can do it myself.” Viktor heard someone’s voice in the background on Yuuri’s end. “Break’s over, unfortunately. I have to go.” Viktor whined, and Yuuri laughed. “I’ll see you in less than 48 hours, Viktor.”

“Too long.” Viktor scratched Makkachin’s head, frowning down at the dog. “Ah well. There’s nothing for it but to suffer, I suppose. Goodbye then, Yuuri. I love you.”

Well, _that_ had not been planned, but before Viktor could start to panic, Makkachin licked his hand and he heard Yuuri sigh. “Oh, Viktor.” Was that fondness? Did Yuuri sound fond or exasperated? “I’ll see you soon.”

Viktor wrinkled his nose, drumming his fingers across Makkachin’s ears. “Fond,” he decided. “It’s okay he didn’t say it back, right, Makkachin? No need to worry. We’ll see him soon, won’t we? Won’t we?” He scooped the dog up in his arms and carried him over to the couch. “We’ll be alright until then.”

\-----

Viktor saw the light on through the window and unlocked his front door in a better mood than when he had left the studio. “Yuuri?” he called, unbuttoning his jacket. “Are you here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Yuuri stepped out from the bathroom, rubbing the back of his head. “Traffic was light and I got here before you, so I let myself in.”

Viktor smiled at the note of remorse in Yuuri’s voice. “That’s why I gave you a key, my Yuuri. To let yourself in whenever you like.” He toed off his shoes and stepped toward Yuuri, reaching out to take his hand. Yuuri shoved the hand in his pocket before Viktor could touch him, and Viktor took in the shoes still on Yuuri’s feet, the duffel bag clutched in his hand. Yuuri was staring at the ground. “What’s going on?”

“We can’t - I can’t do this anymore,” Yuuri said in a rush. “Viktor, I’m so sorry, but we can’t be together.”

Viktor was aware, in some corner of his mind, that he should be feeling sadness or anger, maybe even panic, but instead everything went dim and distant. “I don’t understand,” he said, taking a step back, and then another, until his legs hit the back of the sofa. “Is it - is it because of what I said?”

There could be no pretending that either of them didn’t know what he meant. Yuuri gave a jerky nod. “Kind of, yes.”

_There_ was the sadness, the first crack in Viktor’s heart that he could properly feel. “Yuuri, I - if you don’t love me back, that’s - that’s okay, it doesn’t mean we have to be over, not if you still want -”

“No,” Yuuri said, holding up a hand to cut Viktor off. “No, you don’t understand. Viktor, you can’t be in love with me. You don’t even know me, not really.”

The sadness receded again, Viktor’s heart icing over that initial fault line. “What?”

Yuuri sighed, letting the duffel bag fall to the floor. He crossed past Viktor to sink onto the sofa. Viktor was still clutching the back cushion; if he turned his head he could see the slope of Yuuri’s neck, the long strands of hair tousled out of place. “I’m not what you think I am,” Yuuri said into his hands. “You think you know me but you’re wrong.”

The distance between Viktor and his body inched a little wider. “Why don’t you tell me, then,” Viktor heard himself say. “What is it that I think you are, that you are not?”

Yuuri took off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Viktor’s eyes followed the blue frames as he set them down on the table. “The first night, the one we met, that was real,” Yuuri started, his voice low. Viktor turned away, putting Yuuri’s voice at his back. “I get... _bold,_ when I drink, I always have. Less scared, more... It’s why I took so long to call you, after. I knew you wanted that version of me, the confident, _dominant_ one.” Yuuri gave a hollow laugh. “But eventually, I just...I wanted you too much not to try. I’ve been pretending this whole time, Viktor, but who I am when I’m drunk, that just isn’t me when I’m not. It’s all been an act.”

“You’ve done a piss-poor job,” Viktor said. Dimly he could feel his knuckles clenched white on the sofa cushion. He forced his fingers to relax, one by one. “It’s been almost a year, Yuuri, and you think I don’t know all of that?” He turned his head back. Yuuri hadn’t replaced his glasses and was blinking at him, almost cartoonishly wide-eyed, and a grim bark of laughter came out of Viktor’s mouth. “Is it worse, do you think, to lie to someone, or to lie to someone so poorly that all they can see is the truth?”

Yuuri kept gaping for a moment, and then plucked his glasses from the table to slide them back on his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it comes to the same thing, I think. We can’t keep seeing each other.”

“No, I expect not,” Viktor said. His voice sounded absent, almost distracted.

“I’ll still finish the photo spread,” Yuuri said. He stood, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “And Fashion Week. I made the commitment, I’ll see it through.”

“Sure.”

Viktor watched Yuuri walk back to his fallen bag and pick it up, watched him dig in a pocket and extract the key Viktor had given him. He held it out, but Viktor had expended all conscious control of his hand on releasing the sofa cushion, it seemed, because all he could do was blink at it. After a moment, Yuuri walked over to place it on the sofa back, a few centimeters from Viktor’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up at Viktor. “I really am, Viktor, I just...You need more than I can give you.”

Viktor flinched, the ice over his heart shattering and the pain flooding back in. Yuuri’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “Viktor, I didn’t mean it like -”

“For the love of Christ, stop talking,” Viktor snapped. “Just go, if you’re going.”

Yuuri went. As the door clicked shut Viktor slid to the floor, the tears starting as soon as he hit the ground. His phone was digging into his hip. He fished it out of his pocket and texted Chris. _Is there any universe where ‘you need more than I can give you’ means anything other than ‘you need too much’?_

The indication that Chris was typing came almost immediately. _Oh, darling. Yes. This universe._ And then, because under all the sex and sin and scandal Christophe Giacometti was one of God’s own angels, he added, _I’ll be on the next flight. Je t’aime. Don’t do anything rash._

Viktor typed out _you are better to me than I deserve_ and then deleted it. Chris only had patience for Viktor’s self-deprecation when he didn’t mean it, and the sentiment was too sincere to go over well now. Instead he set the phone on the floor and craned his neck to peer into his bedroom. He could see the dark shape of Makkachin curled at the foot of the bed; at his whistle, the dog stirred, jumped down, and padded over to him. “Makkachin, if I sleep down here tonight, you’ll stay with me, right?” Makkachin licked his cheek, and Viktor let himself sob.

\-----

**_TROUBLE IN PARADISE?_ **

_Y’all, these last few weeks have been buck. wild. in the Viktuuri fandom. Grab hold of something, we’re about to walk you through it._

_Three weeks ago, just before Moscow Fashion Week, Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri finally revealed the project they’ve spent the last year working on. If you’ve managed not to see it until now, check it out_ _here_ _, and catch our initial excited screaming_ _here_ _. Long story short, it’s an absolutely luscious photo spread, sixteen pictures featuring sixteen pairs of Nikiforov originals (and, in the case of the Spring set, featuring Nikiforov himself), all modeled to perfection by Katsuki. The photos were taken by Nikiforov’s long-time friend and collaborator, Christophe Giacometti._

_Surprisingly, the pair, who have been more or less joined at the hip for months, didn’t do a single press appearance together. They don’t appear to have been in the same country, even, until Fashion Week, when the sixteen new designs were shown on the runway, Katsuki walking in the final Winter pair. Even then they stayed apart. Nikiforov stuck to the usual canned sound bites, but our own Morooka managed to get a few words with Katsuki. You can watch the full interview_ _here_ _, but brace yourself, it gets a little emotional around the 5:36 mark; Katsuki visibly choked up when asked if his partnership with Nikiforov will continue. “I hope so,” he managed, after a beat. “I’d love to work with him for the rest of my career. The rest of my life.”_

_To Nikiforov and Katsuki, from a bunch of randos on the internet - good luck, you two. We’re pulling for you._

\-----

Makkachin broke into a run as soon as they rounded the last corner on their way home, his leash ripping out of Viktor’s hand, and Viktor knew; even as he raised his head to call after Makkachin, he knew he would see Yuuri sitting on the steps of his building, the dog bounding over to lick his hands and bark into his face.

Viktor slowed, watching Yuuri scratch Makkachin behind the ears, a small smile that couldn’t quite reach his eyes flickering into being. The smile slipped away as Viktor approached and Yuuri looked up at him. “Viktor,” he breathed, standing.

“Well, this is a surprise.” It came out bitter and sharp; Yuuri winced, but before he could say anything else Viktor raised a hand. “Whatever this is, I think we should not do it in public.” He pushed past Yuuri to the front door, reaching for his keys. “Grab his leash, will you?” he threw over his shoulder as he unlocked the door.

The last time they were in this elevator together, they had been touching from chest to knee, pawing at each other and giggling around kisses; Viktor had slipped his hands under Yuuri’s thighs and carried him to the sofa, Yuuri whispering praise and pleasure into Viktor’s ears. From the pink of Yuuri’s cheeks, Viktor could tell he was remembering it too.

Viktor unclipped Makkachin’s leash and went into the kitchen to put together the dog’s dinner. Yuuri followed, hovering on the threshold. “Well?” Viktor asked after a few moments, crossing to fetch the canned pumpkin from its usual shelf. “Why are you here?” He had seen Yuuri’s interview after the show, of course, so he had his suspicions, but he needed to hear Yuuri say it.

He heard Yuuri draw in a deep breath, the same way he did before striding onto the runway or walking onto a set. Viktor kept his eyes focused on the can, though he could mix Makkachin’s food in his sleep by this point. “I’m here for you,” Yuuri finally said. Viktor couldn’t resist a quick glance up; Yuuri looked nervous but resolute, and far less miserable than he had on the steps. “I’m here because I made a terrible mistake, the last time. I would like to apologize, if you’ll hear it, and explain, if you would like, and to see if there is any chance you - if you might consider taking me back.”

Viktor knelt to put the bowl on the floor, rubbing Makkachin’s ears when he came running. “A mistake so terrible it took you two months to regret it?”

“I regretted it as soon as I woke up the next morning,” Yuuri said baldly.

Viktor’s eyes snapped back to him and he stood, putting the counter between them again. “Then why the delay? Why not come back then, and apologize?”

Yuuri sighed, closing his eyes. “I didn’t trust myself,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t want to come to you until I had absolute certainty. You deserve nothing less.”

He looked certain now, regretful but sure, and Viktor was still so, so in love with him. “Yuuri, what - what _happened?_ ” Viktor managed, his throat dry.

Yuuri stepped forward until he could rest against the counter opposite Viktor, hands pressed flat against the marble. “My instincts are sometimes...unreliable,” he began. “My mind is very good at creating the worst-case scenario and then refusing to entertain any other possibilities, no matter the evidence in front of me. I have learned, over my life, to recognize when this is happening and try to counter it, but sometimes...” He huffed a wry laugh. “Sometimes I miss it until well after, when it suddenly becomes clear that I reacted to a scenario that wasn’t actually happening.”

Yuuri waited for Viktor to meet his eyes before continuing. “When I said I wanted certainty, that’s what I meant. I’ve spent the last two months reconstructing where I went wrong, where my initial fallacy was. I can tell you, if you like,” he added, his fingers twitching on the counter like he wanted to reach out. “If it would help, I could explain.”

Viktor shook his head. “I have enough of an idea, I think.” Yuuri nodded. His fingers twitched again, and he clenched them into a fist. Viktor watched the flex of his knuckles, his own tightening in sympathy. “What do you want, Yuuri?” he whispered. “Now that you have your certainty. What is it you want from me?”

Yuuri reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small black box. “There are two rings in here,” he said.

Viktor shook his head, straightening. “Yuuri -”

“They aren’t engagement rings, Viktor,” Yuuri said, holding up a hand. “Or, I suppose they are, but not for now.” He set the box on the counter. “What I want is to put these on a shelf, somewhere safe, and then one day, when we’re ready, I want us to give them to each other.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple.” This time Yuuri let himself reach out, his fingertips touching the back of Viktor’s hand and sliding down to cover his fingers. “I want to spend my life with you, Viktor. We have a lot of work to do before we marry, that much is clear, but I do want to marry you, Viktor. I want to be with you.” He laughed. “I don’t want to spend more than a few days apart without someone having to apologize to us for it.”

A choked laugh turned into a sob halfway up Viktor’s throat and he clapped his free hand over his mouth. “I love you,” he rasped, blinking against a sudden swell of tears.

“I love you, Viktor,” Yuuri said, releasing Viktor’s hand. He was at Viktor’s side a heartbeat later, hands warm on Viktor’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I let you think I didn’t. I love you, and I have loved you, and I will love you.” He pulled Viktor down to press their foreheads together. “If you will have me, for as long as you will have me, I am yours.”

\-----

**_Another Fashion Week, another Katsuki/Nikiforov secret photo shoot_ **

_Although, unlike the past two years, this one had nothing to do with shoes._

_Alright, we’ll just come out and say it - they got married, y’all. If you’re reading this then you already know, but bear with us, we’re excited. THEY GOT MARRIED. LOVE IS REAL. The ceremony was two days ago in Hasetsu, Japan, and the pictures hit Instagram yesterday. We’ve spent the past twenty-four hours crying over them, and we still can’t make words about it, so instead, have our fifteen favorite shots from the wedding of the century. (All photos courtesy of Christophe Giacometti via Instagram.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry/scream/laugh/impatiently wait for movie news with me on [Tumblr](http://thewalrus-said.tumblr.com)!
> 
> The foot fetish is Viktor's, and only minorly touched on in a few spots. The 'miscommunication' and 'under-negotiated kink' tags refer to the D/s dynamic they establish, and to one scene involving some (very light) pain play - they don't talk about it, but everything that happens has both of their enthusiastic consent. For more specific information, send me an ask or a message on Tumblr and I'll be happy to explain further.


End file.
